Love Beyond Time
by AJ Matthews
Summary: The tragic AU story of Lasgalan and Elessar, as hinted at in 'Reasons'. Updated to Chapter 2, now!
1. Author Notes

Author Notes:

This is another Prequel to AU 'Reasons', and takes place many, many millennia before that story.

This fic will be mostly angst, involving character death and rape.

Lasgalen is Legolas' past life, and Elessar is Aragorn's past life, so they are not my original characters!! On another note, Aragorn is also a descendant of Elessar, though the blood tie is very thin, many generations having gone between their two lives.

Elessar is the King of Gondor, and has some Elven blood, but not enough to live forever. His lifespan can, at the most, range from 300 – 500 years. He was not raised at Rivendell.

Lasgalen is not the Prince of Mirkwood in this fic, but he does possess some magic, though not as much as Legolas will. He is a young Elf, even by Elven standards.

In this fic, Sauron and Saruman are not yet known to be evil. Elves typically avoid getting involved with conflicts- preferring to remain among their own kind. Men and Elves do not get along in this fic, either; most Men resent Elves for being beautiful, Immortal, and impassive to the needs of others. The Orcs, Nazgul, and Uruk-Hai are present, but no one knows who is behind their actions.

The rest of the characters will mostly be mine, though a few familiar faces will show up.

The Elven lands are known as Imladris, Lórien (known as Lothlorien in 'Reasons'), and Greenwood (known as Mirkwood in 'Reasons').

This is another slash fic!

Elvish is in ' '.

Enjoy!

A.J. Matthews


	2. Prologue

Disclaimer: See the Author Notes! Tanka harwar = Heal

Love Beyond Time

Prologue:

Silence was the only thing that Lasgalen heard, as he gathered nuts from the ground, placing them into the brown, leather pouch that hung from his neck by a thin, long loop of brown leather. The Elf enjoyed the silence, his sharp eyes never failing to stop a single nut that could be hoarded for later, along the way to the small garden that he tended.

The cold season was fast approaching, and even the Elves could feel the chill in the air. The Elven hunters were out hunting meat for the winter and fur so that all of the Elves could be warm this season. New cloaks were being made for everyone, while those that had planted small gardens harvested their vegetables, whatever was left that was still edible.

The wind howled around the few, different colored trees, plucking at the few remaining red, orange, and yellow leaves. Strewn pine needles decorated the grass, along with pine cones that crunched underneath even Lasgalen's light steps. The Elf could feel the wind blowing through his soft, blond locks, freeing a few tendrils from the two side braids that he wore, and tugging at strands of the thick braid down the middle of his hair, and the rest cascaded over his shoulders.

The sweet smell of toasted hazelnuts floated around Lasgalen, for he had been eating them before he set off again to get his plants harvested early. Overhead, the sky was slowly giving way from dawn to sunrise, as the sun began lighting up the dim shadows the trees cast, and chasing away the remaining night. The light made his emerald green shirt, dark green tunic, and leggings the same color as his shirt become a slightly lighter shade. If anyone had looked into the twinkling, azure eyes at this moment, they would have seen a thoughtful, curious expression there, as if he was listening to something. His feet shifted slightly in his brown, light Elven shoes.

A long, tan bow with black markings down its curve was slung across his chest, with the smooth wood resting on the Elf's back, next to a brown, leather quiver. A dagger hung at his waist, resting against his right leg. His slender arms, legs, and body hid the rippling muscles of promise that Lasgalen possessed, and his skin was the pale color of ivory, luminescent in the early morning light. The golden waterfall of hair was tucked behind his pointed ears, showing his Elven heritage.

Lasgalen heard the strange sounds again, and frowned. He dropped his current handful of hazelnuts into the pouch, before he began looking around. It sounded like there was a battle nearby, and if there was, he knew he was not supposed to do anything about it. Yet, his curiosity was peaked, for he wondered who would be out fighting so far from the human cities. He was not even two days into his journey towards the Men-ruled land of Rohan, and already something unusual had happened.

The tall, fair-haired Elf decided to indulge his curiosity, despite what his Elders had told him… or perhaps because of it. Lasgalen sprinted in the direction that the sounds of battle were coming from, regretting slightly, not for the first time, that he had left his swift stallion, Alkar, behind for Kiirar to use as he hunted.

There was naught that could be done about it, Lasgalen knew, so he simply raced across the somewhat rough terrain, his Elven agility and grace keeping him from stumbling over the numerous stones that seemed to be trying to delay him. When he drew within sight of the battle, Lasgalen froze.

A small group of almost twenty Men, or so the Elf believed they were, wearing black cloaks and hoods, had surrounded a lone Man, who fought them diligently, his courage never wavering, as he easily parried blows that would have killed most Men.

Lasgalen intently studied the Man, impressed. He had seen no Men in his life, but had been told that they were clumsy and uncoordinated. It was not so with this Man, who gracefully leapt out of the way of a sword aiming directly at his heart, before he brought his sword up and slit his opponent's throat. He then whirled and deflected another sword thrust, quickly twisting his own sword and stabbing that Man between the heart.

This human wasn't bad looking, even by Elven standards. Long brown hair, which had been tousled by the wind, framed a rugged face, and he had a very strong profile. His brown eyes were narrowed in a mixture of determination and concentration, a deep russet color. Well-muscled arms easily wielded the gleaming sword, which was currently stained with dripping bloody, and muscular legs kept him from being struck, aiding him in dodging the majority of the blows.

Lasgalen admired the strength that he was witnessing, before he began appraising the dark, black, velvet tunic over the pure silk of the blue shirt that served to accentuate the solid, firm chest. Dark green breeches, made of leather, hung over black boots, leaving little room to the imagination as to this Man's innate might and strength. A faint flush crept onto Lasgalen's face at the raw, wild beauty that the human exuded, in his graceful attacks and defenses.

The Elf noticed the Men sneaking up on him right before they grabbed onto his arms and dragged him over towards the fight. Lasgalen feigned weakness, quickly calculating a plan of escape. Because he was not fighting, these Men assumed he was weak, and the blond Elf intended to use that to his advantage.

Elessar glanced up when he saw a slim, pale figure being yanked over towards where some of his attackers stood watching. At first, he thought it was a woman, until he saw the smooth chest that was covered by a tight-fitting green shirt. Whoever it was, it was definitely not a female, the King thought, deflecting a slash towards his face, before countering with a deadly arc of his blade, leaving that attacker dead.

"What… is **_it_**?" Cameron demanded, staring at the very pretty figure that was pulled over to him. His eyebrows rose appreciatively, and he reached out one of his large, rough hands, taking a harsh grip on the smooth chin, inspecting the delicate features. "An Elf…" he breathed, when he saw the pointed ears. "Pretty…"

Lasgalen looked wordlessly at the human, his eyes betraying no emotion as he was appraised. The Elf did not understand a word the Man had said, save for the word 'Elf'. He narrowed his eyes, disliking the cruel grip on his face, and before they could react, he struck.

One of his slender legs came forward slightly, before he brought it back hard into the leg of one of the Men that held him. His right elbow slammed directly into the other Man's stomach, leaving him coughing and wheezing, and Lasgalen easily twisted out of the arms that tried to take a hold of him. He drew his dagger and held the hilt tightly, with the blade extended towards the other Men defensively.

Elessar flinched when a sword cut deeply into his side; he'd been distracted, worrying over the slender prisoner that was fighting the other attackers. The brown-haired Man gutted the foe in front of him, his left hand instinctively pressing against the wound, to stop the bleeding.

Lasgalen gracefully danced out of the Men that lunged at him, using his dagger to slice cuts across their arms and legs, before he took the offensive, leaping forward and bringing his dagger up in a sharp curve, cutting the throat of the closest Man.

Pretty soon, Lasgalen and Elessar were forced closer together, their blades whirling and killing many. Both jumped when their backs touched, having been distracted by their own personal battles against their attackers.

Elessar and Lasgalen both held a tense look, until they both realized that if they were going to survive this, they would have to work together. Exchanging a firm nod, each went to work, slashing and dodging, striking deadly blows, until the few Men that were left were forced to flee under the combined might of the two they had seen as easy targets.

Breathing hard, both Man and Elf cleaned their blades, sheathing them slowly, before they turned to face each other wordlessly, each possessing apprehension and suspicion, staring at the other.

A look of surprise and shock crossed Elessar's face, when he drank in the sight of the slender figure looking at him silently. "Beautiful," he whispered, gazing at the slightly rosy face, still flushed from the heat of battle, the long golden hair, so like the sun, and the shining, bright cobalt eyes. Slender, soft-looking lips the color of rose petals, a small build, but one with obvious strength, and such pale skin. The pointed ears were missed, until the Elf brushed some of his hair back behind his ears, for it had come loose in the battle.

Lasgalen frowned and said, 'What did you say?' A slight, soft lilt was in his voice, which was smooth, flowing like water in a stream, and quite pleasant to hear.

"What is that tongue?" Elessar mused aloud in Western, not understanding the accented Elvish words. He frowned and searched through his memory; he knew a little Elvish, but this dialect was different somewhat. A wince crossed his face; his side was still bleeding badly.

'Are you all right?' Lasgalen grew concerned when the Man turned pale, before falling to the ground. In a instant, the Elf knelt at his side and began inspecting him, to see what was hurting him. When Lasgalen saw the deep gash, he paled a little himself. This was not an easily treated wound, for the sword that had done this had torn through a few muscles, so there was no time for him to go find another human to care for the unconscious Man.

The Elf then heard the sounds of horses approaching and, not knowing if they were friends of this Man or not, he lifted the injured Man carefully in his strong arms, dashing away quickly, looking for one of the secret, Elven forts that had been hidden along this route.

They had been established to keep the Elves out of harm's way, and could only be seen by someone who knew they were there. Lasgalen was relieved when he spotted one, and had just made it inside, when the group of traveling Men drew within sight.

They rode past the hovel, seeing only a tree, as they searched for their missing King, who had gone out alone to find the bandits that frequently attacked this road. The soldiers were very concerned, seeing no sign of their sovereign.

Lasgalen breathed a sigh of relief as the Men rode on, before turning to the Man he held. He slowly climbed down the wooden stairs that had been placed in this small, underground fort. It was not very large, but quite capable of sheltering two people. Food, clothes, blankets, herbs, medicine, bandages, and a few dishes were in the carved out walls of dirt, with wood outlining the makeshift cupboards.

Elessar softly groaned when he was laid on the bed. Lasgalen quickly pulled his own sleeves up, and then he unlaced the tunic that Elessar wore, removing it silently. The shirt was slightly harder, but the nimble Elf managed to pull it off, eliciting a sharp gasp from the wounded Man. Comfrey, marigolds, and witch hazel were spread onto the deep gash, in case it was poisoned, before Lasgalen took a deep breath and prepared to use his magic.

'Tanka harwar,' Lasgalen whispered, waiting until his hands shone slightly, with a bright light. They hovered directly above the wound, as the blond Elf used the healing spell to slow the bleeding as best as he could, though he could not fully heal the wound. White, silk bandages were carefully wrapped around the Man's waist, binding it closed.

Once the wound had been treated, Lasgalen placed a pale blue blanket across the Man gently, gazing at him for a few minutes. Then he turned and placed the wood from the pile on the floor into the fireplace, feeling the cold even though he was an Elf. A few tries with the flint, and a fire was lit, instantly warming the room a few degrees. More wood was placed into the fire, until the weary Elf picked up the last blanket.

Dropping it onto the floor, and after he placed his bow, quiver, and bag of hazelnuts on one of the wooden chairs, Lasgalen collapsed atop the blanket, drained from the physical fight and from using his magic, weak though it was. The Elf was so tired that he didn't feel the hard, wooden floor or even notice when Elessar awoke, several hours later.

To be continued


	3. Chapter 1. Beginning

Disclaimer: See the Author Notes! Thank you, Wendy, for your suggestion, and I've used it.

Love Beyond Time

Chapter 1. Beginning

Elessar slowly blinked his eyes open, and then he froze. The King of Gondor did not know where he was at all, and the last thing he could remember was looking at the ethereal figure that had been gazing back at him, before everything had gone black. The Man peered around the room curiously, trying in vain to see if he could figure out just where he had been taken.

The walls were made of dried dirt, mixed with a bit of powdered rocks and water that hardened the dirt not unlike bricks made of mud and straw, and the roof over head had a few boards over it, to keep out rain. The boards were held up with posts across the room, fastened together cleverly with tiny _mithril_ hooks, and the floor was made of bare wood. The carved hollows in the walls held different items on wooden shelves, ranging from dishes to food. A musty smell, combined with the natural smell of earth, emanated in the room, for there were only two small, circular windows to be found, and the only light came from a dying fire. Two wooden chairs and a table were in the middle of the room, and the bed was back against the wall.

Elessar shifted slowly, before he realized that his shirt and tunic had been removed, and his wound had been bandaged. He cast his brown eyes about, looking for whoever had brought him here, until he spotted the figure laying on the floor in front of the fire, with no blankets covering the prone, slender body. Elessar narrowed his eyes before sitting up, letting the soft, blue blanket that covered him slide down to his waist. He stood carefully, testing his weight to make certain that he could stand. A dull ache was in his side, but it was a manageable pain, so the Man silently walked over and peered down at the male figure sleeping beside the fire.

Soft-looking ivory skin and full lips, along with a rosy flush illuminated his face, and his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips, as he continued sleeping. His cobalt eyes were vacant and open, like all Elves' eyes were when they slept, though it was intriguing to Elessar, and he continued his bold inspection of the sleeping beauty. The rise and fall of his firm but lean chest was mesmerizing, for his lips parted slightly when he breathed, and his thin arms and legs were attractive to the King of Gondor, with his solid, firm muscles. But the hair was the most appealing to Elessar; golden tresses covered part of the perfectly-shaped oval face, and the braids were coming out, stray strands slowly becoming untwined.

Lasgalen turned in his sleep, now laying on his side, and his arms were curled up at his sides, in an effort to get slightly warmer. Elessar stared at the curved hips for a few moments, gawking slightly, until he realized what he was doing and scolded himself for his thoughts. He needed to return to Gondor with the news that the bandits had been defeated; there was no longer any need for Mérion to voice his concerns about them.

Lasgalen heard a discreet cough, and his slightly glazed eyes returned to normal. He automatically sat up and looked up at the Man towering over him. A yawn escaped from his mouth, before he questioned, 'Are you feeling better?' 

"What did you say?" Elessar frowned, a little upset that he couldn't understand the soft, accented words that seemed to be asking him a question. The Man tried not to groan when he saw the confused look on the stranger's face. His eyes drifted slightly to the golden hair again, and this time he saw the pointed ears. "Elvish," he said aloud, speaking to himself. It had been so long since he had heard the Elven tongue that he had nearly forgotten it.

'I do not understand,' Lasgalen murmured, blinking his expressive azure eyes, which shone with confusion. He wanted to understand what the handsome Man was saying, but he had not yet learned the Western tongue, so he merely stared at the first Man he had ever seen up close. The Elf stood slowly and curiously reached his right hand towards the bits of stubble on the face of the Man that looked at him.

Elessar was surprised when the Elf tentatively touched the stubble on his cheek, before gently running his soft hand over it. The look of wonder in those sparkling eyes captured the Man's attention, and Elessar realized that he must be the first human male that this Elf had ever seen before. A low chuckle escaped from him at the very inquisitive look the blond Elf had on his face as he continued feeling the unshaved hair.

Lasgalen was intrigued by the feel of the face hair that the taller Man had. Such a thing was never seen amongst the Elves. He was a naturally curious Elf, and the slightly rough bits of hair fascinated him, being somewhat rough to the delicately smooth skin of his palm, but it did not hurt him. He unconsciously leaned forward to see it closer, bringing his face within inches of the stubble, and then he heard the low chuckle. He cocked his head to one side and peered up into the Man's rich, brown eyes. 

'Why are you laughing?' he asked, frowning slightly, before he sighed. He'd forgotten that the human would not understand him. A look of frustration appeared in his indigo eyes. If only it wasn't now forbidden for him to speak Western or even learn it, they might be able to understand each other.

Elessar listened carefully, to make certain that he understood what the Elf had said, before replying, 'Curious one, aren't you?' A hint of humor appeared in his eyes when the blue eyes widened in shock at his use of Elvish.

Lasgalen gaped for a few moments. 'Where did you learn Elvish? You are a Man… aren't you?' A doubt was in him now, because Men couldn't speak Elvish… could they?

'Indeed, Master Elf; I am a Man. But the my veins have Elven blood in it as well,' Elessar answered, sobering up slightly. There were two facts that proved his words were true; his ancestors had all possessed much longer life-spans than most Men, as did he, and a book was handed down every generation, with translations of Elvish to Western, proving that Men- at least his ancestors- and Elves had once been friends. The King of Gondor then asked a question of his own. 'Why did you help me, since I am a Man and stranger?'

'Did we not help each other?' Lasgalen replied earnestly. 'And are we all not strangers until we meet?' His words were honest and simple. 

Elessar nodded. 'Well said, Master Elf, and I thank you for helping me. I do not wish to be rude, but I must return to my castle in Gondor with the news that the threat of the bandits is over.'

Lasgalen smiled and corrected, 'My name is Lasgalen, not Master Elf.' His dark eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of a castle in Gondor, but he ignored that for a moment. 'Are you well enough to travel? Does your injury still hurt you?'

'A little, but it will mend soon. Where are we, Lasgalen?' Elessar inquired, enjoying the way the Elf's name rolled off of his tongue.

'Tis is an Elven fort, invisible to all but those who know it is here,' Lasgalen murmured. 'Would you like some food? If you are traveling alone, you should eat and recover before you go anywhere. Tis a long way back to Gondor, after all, and unless I am mistaken, you do not have a stallion to ride.'

Elessar frowned slightly, but nodded. 'I would appreciate something to eat,' he finally said, knowing that the Elf was right. He needed to fully recover before he set off for his home, and another, even deeper reason, was that he wanted to speak with Lasgalen for a while longer. 'Are you not alone as well?' he pointed out.

Lasgalen quietly laughed. 'I am much older than you, and I have seen many centuries in my life.' He warmly smiled at the Man, looking amused. 'Do my kind- do I- truly look so frail to you?' The Elf then turned to the carved hollows and began removing lembas and some dried meat from the cloth bag they were in on one of the wooden shelves.

'Yes,' Elessar admitted, and he was surprised to realize that he was smiling as well. 'You are a good fighter; I saw part of your fight with the bandits.'

'Thank you. And you are a good swordsman,' Lasgalen informed the Man. 'I was watching you before they decided to try to take me prisoner.'

Elessar sighed and softly muttered, without thinking, "Probably because you are very beautiful," as he stared openly at the graceful Elf. He inwardly winced when Lasgalen turned back to him.

'Did you say something?' the Elf asked. Concern shone in his eyes when a flush appeared on the Man's face, before he shook his head. 'Are you well? Perhaps you should lie down and rest while I brew some tea- you do drink tea, I hope?'

'No,' Elessar murmured. 'I drink tea.' He then became aware of the slight shivers going through the slender Elf. 'Are **_you_** well?' he asked, in the same tone of voice that Lasgalen had used on him.

'Indeed,' Legolas stated. 'Even my kind are feeling the cold this year, with winter fast approaching. It must be either late afternoon or night outside, for it is getting colder; just enough to make me slightly uncomfortable.' In truth, Lasgalen was very tired still, but he was determined to be a good host, especially since the Man was inured, so he demurely said, 'There are only two blankets in here, and the floor is not the best place I have ever slept.'

Elessar inwardly groaned. He should have been back at Gondor hours ago. 'You sleep on the bed then tonight, and I'll sleep on the floor.' The human was beginning to feel the cold as well, but he hid it well.

Lasgalen shook his head, causing some of his golden hair to come loose from behind his pointed ears. 'You are injured, and the floor is not so bad- I've slept on worse.' He frowned again. 'It seems to me that we are unequal, for while you know my name, I do not know yours.' His eyes quizzically met the Man's.

'Elessar is my name, and I could not call myself noble if I let you sleep on the floor again,' the Man stated firmly, before he automatically smoothed the stray blond hair back behind the ears, inadvertently brushing the pointed tip. He raised a dark eyebrow when Lasgalen quivered, catching his breath in a startled gasp.

Lasgalen couldn't suppress his reaction when a slightly large and coarse hand rubbed against his face a little, fixing his golden hair, before it touched his ear. His eyes glazed slightly, and the Elf forced himself to control his breathing.

Elessar was intrigued by this and ran the tip of his finger along the point slowly. The soft, barely audible moan aroused his interest. 'Why-' 

'-do I react like that?' Lasgalen finished, light-hearted enough to smile. 'Elves' ears are very sensitive, Elessar.' A solemn look crossed his face, as his smile faded. 'One could give great pleasure to Elves by stroking their ears, but it can be used against us, for it is one of our few weaknesses.'

'How can it be used against you?' Elessar didn't understand those words, until he saw the somber light in the sapphire eyes that met his chocolate ones.

Lasgalen sighed, 'Many Men- not all, but many- desire Elves, male or female, willing or not. My kind die from such violations, though derived pleasure can keep us alive… sometimes. Our ears are one way to force an Elf to receive unwanted pleasure.' The blond Elf did not know why he was revealing such a weakness to a human, but somehow he knew that this Man would not hurt him or use the weakness against him. It was an instinctive belief that was unexplainable, but every part of Lasgalen told him that Elessar would never harm him.

Horror and anger rose in Elessar at those words. In his opinion, Elves were sacred, no matter their policy of non-interference in times of war and trouble, and should never be treated so cruelly 'Has that ever happened to you?' The King knew he would be furious if it had, because he could see the purity and goodness within this Elf, making him all the more beautiful.

'Nay… I am one of the lucky ones,' Lasgalen whispered softly, though his words echoed in Elessar's ears. 'But that is why we do not fight, because our numbers are dwindling. Many of my Kin leave for the Grey Havens because the dark, evil creatures that plague Middle Earth enjoy killing and torturing Elves more than anything, and we alone are not enough to defeat them all. And sometimes… the very ones we tried to protect turned against us. The Elders are worried that we Elves will die out, if we do not rebuild our numbers.'

'I did not know that that was the reason that the Elves stopped aiding against the dark ones,' Elessar gravely told the Elf. 'But I ask again, now knowing this, then why did you help me?'

Lasgalen smiled. 'I believe that all life is sacred.' He handed some lembas and dried meat to the Man, before he bit into a lemba. As he chewed and swallowed, the Elf set water to boiling for the tea, using an iron kettle and some water from a water-bag. 

A firm but thin iron rod stretched out, with the handle of the kettle hanging on it, before it was pushed over the fire. A few pieces of wood was added to it by the Elf, who cast his eyes to the Man watching him as he stoked the fire with a longer stick. A hot spark flew onto his bare right hand, and Lasgalen instantly hissed softly in pain.

Elessar had eaten already, and he immediately took the soft, slender hand in his larger ones, carefully inspecting it. A few small blisters were beginning to form on the smooth palm, but it was not unbearable for the Elf.

'I'll be all right; I just need to put some aloe on it,' Lasgalen muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Elessar breathed in the warm, tantalizing smell of hazelnuts, and he was surprised to realize that it came from Lasgalen. He stepped closer and enjoyed the slightly spicy odor, still holding the hand within his own two rough hands.

Lasgalen gave Elessar a quizzical look, before he repeated, 'I'm fine, Elessar. Twas a tad careless of me not to pay closer attention, but tis nothing to worry about.' A warmth was inside of him while he watched the handsome Man wordlessly, not sure of what to say.

'Where is the aloe?' Elessar inquired firmly, silently admiring the soft hint of a blush that illuminated the Elf's face.

'On that shelf… in the white jar,' Lasgalen replied, though he didn't understand why Elessar was making such a fuss over a simple burn that would heal within a day's time.

Elessar released the hand for a few moments, long enough to grab the jar and open it. He placed a generous amount of the aloe onto his hand, before he began rubbing it gently onto the burn mark, his eyes a slightly darker shade of brown than usual.

Lasgalen quietly said, 'Thank you… Elessar.' The water heating over the fire began boiling then, so the blond Elf set about making the tea, not using his burned palm, once he extracted it from Elessar's strong grip. After making the jasmine tea and pouring it one-handed into two light blue cups that had no handles, Lasgalen replaced the hot kettle over the fire and handed a cup to Elessar.

'You're welcome,' Elessar murmured, though he saw another shiver go through the Elf. 'And thank you,' he added.

'You're welcome,' Lasgalen replied, picking up his own cup and sipping on it slightly. A yawn escaped from him; a reminder of just how tired he truly was. A second yawn quickly followed the first, catching Elessar's attention.

'Why are you so tired?' the Man curiously asked.

Lasgalen sighed, 'Magic takes a lot out of an Elf… and I had to use it to stop the bleeding, so that you wouldn't die from blood loss before I applied the herbs and bandages.' He drank more of the hot tea, hoping it would keep him from falling asleep.

Elessar raised his dark eyebrows slightly, appraising the attractive Elf for a few moments. There was certainly more to this Elf than just his appearance, the King mused. Amusement ran through him when the Elf yawned once more. 'Get some sleep, lest you fall asleep standing up.'

'I cannot take the bed,' Lasgalen argued.

'And I cannot, either. We are at an impasse then. Perhaps we both should take the bed; it is not too small,' Elessar suggested, not wanting the Elf to be forced to sleep on the floor. He didn't relish that idea for himself, either. He set the cup on a shelf that was just within reach, having drank the tea already.

Lasgalen nodded in agreement, taking a step towards the bed. In his fatigue, he didn't see the blanket that he had slept on, until it tangled around his feet and tripped him. Elessar barely had time to catch Lasgalen, using his arms to catch the back of the Elf's head and his back itself, just in time to keep him from striking the ground.

Much to the Man's surprise, the cobalt eyes that were looking at him wordlessly in gratitude were beginning to go vacant, and Lasgalen unwillingly drifted to sleep, breaking the first rule he had ever learned; never make yourself vulnerable to a human. But he was too exhausted to ignore it any longer.

Elessar smiled fondly, looking amused, and, wincing slightly, managed to pick up the surprisingly light Elf, ignoring the pain in his side as he carried Lasgalen to the bed and tenderly laid him on it. Elessar himself then lay down on the opposite side. The last thing he did before falling asleep himself was pull the pale blue blanket around them both.

To be continued 


	4. Chapter 2. Friendship

Disclaimer: See the Author Notes! Yeah, I know that Elessar shouldn't have remembered Elvish so suddenly- but he was thinking of other things besides the Elven tongue at first… Takes place the next morning…

Love Beyond Time

Chapter 2. Friendship

A slender, graceful leg trailed down one of Elessar's own legs when Lasgalen shifted, making the blankets move as well. The Man blinked his eyes open, leaving the peaceful sleep he had been in to peer at the Elf curiously. The golden-haired Elf turned again, face-first across his side of the bed, and his long limbs were outstretched slightly.

That is, his legs were trailing across the bed, moving in his sleep, while one of his pale hands rested on the pillow his golden hair was splashed over, next to his cheek. His other arm lay beside him, pressed against him gently. His vacant, azure eyes looked mysterious to the Man as he watched Lasgalen sleeping. The dusting of a faint rosy flush covered the Elf's face, highlighting the high cheekbones.

Elessar was struck again by the sheer beauty sleeping next to him, a vision that he was unworthy to see. Such refined grace and loveliness should only be seen by one equally as beautiful, though Elessar did not believe that any could be as gorgeous as the vulnerable Elf who slept beside him.

The leg brushed Elessar's again, causing warmth to settle in the King's stomach, as he caught his breath at the innocent movement Lasgalen was making, in his oblivious sleep. No doubt the beautiful Elf didn't know what he was doing, Elessar decided, his gaze fixed on the slightly open mouth hungrily, wondering if those soft-looking lips would taste as sweet as they looked.

Lasgalen shifted once more, this time waking himself. He softly murmured, 'Mmm…' as he refocused his eyes, only to find Elessar staring at him, with a strange look in the deep brown eyes that were so mesmerizing to him.

Cobalt and chocolate orbs met as they gazed at each other silently, neither saying a word as they simply looked… and admired.

Lasgalen's eyes intently studied the muscular Man laying next to him, scrutinizing the rippling muscles and powerful build. The dark hair on the firm, bandaged chest caught his gaze for a few moments, making him swallow hard. No Elf he knew had hair on their chest or face, and until now, Lasgalen had thought that it would be unappealing. However, that was not how he felt now, wanting to explore the dark curls of hair on that muscular chest with his hands, but for some strange reason, he felt curiously shy. A silent thrill went through him when he realized that Elessar was giving him the exact same appraisal.

Elessar's eyes roamed over the seemingly delicate beauty that Lasgalen possessed, from his slender build to the spun gold that covered the pillow, and part of that perfect, oval face. Sparkling, wise eyes gazed at him, as if they were able to see directly into him, and strands of gold showed off the ivory skin that was so tempting to touch, to taste… He was pleased to see the way the Elf was not averting his gaze, instead meeting it calmly.

'Tis morning now, is it not?' Lasgalen finally said, his accent making the words soft to the Man's ears. 'I know… that you are eager to return to your home in Gondor.'

Elessar was disappointed at the seeming dismissal that the Elf was giving him, for while he was ready to return home, he wanted to stay here longer and spend more time with this intriguing, attractive creature. 'Yes, tis morning,' he replied, somewhat wistfully. 'I… must go home.'

Regret sang through Lasgalen at those words, but he schooled his eyes to hide it. 'I… see. I wish you well then, Elessar, on your journey home.' He sat up gracefully in one fluid movement, feigning nonchalance. 'Twas good to learn that not all Men are as cruel and evil as the Elders would have us younger ones believe…'

'I wish the same to you, then, Lasgalen,' Elessar finally said. He didn't like the way the Elf was no longer meeting his gaze, and the breathtaking grace he had just seen when Lasgalen had sat up was enough to make his pulse race. He didn't know what to say about the other statement, feeling a little resentful at learning that the Elven Elders were teaching the younger Elves to believe Men like him to be cold and uncaring.

'I am not going home yet,' Lasgalen corrected softly. He sighed, closing his eyes for a few moments in sorrow. How could he explain to a Man, even one like Elessar, that the wandering Elven tribe he lived in had nowhere to call home? 

Elessar frowned at the sadness that crossed over the Elf's face as he spoke, and questioned, 'Where are you going?'

Lasgalen stood and walked over to the dead fire, before he knelt down. As he began relighting it, to ease the chills that ran through him, he quietly said, 'To a garden I planted much earlier in the year, to take whatever is left for my Kin before we separate to find our winter home.'

'Separate? To find your winter home?' A doubtful look was in the Man's eyes at those words.

'We always do,' Lasgalen answered. 'Some of my Kin will go to Imladris, others to Lórien, and the rest will go to Greenwood. I will go to one of those as well, when I am finished with my garden.' The softness of his accented voice didn't change, but an underlying hint of loneliness was in its soft pitch.

'The Elven lands? Tell me, fair Elf, why-' Here Elessar paused, trying to figure out the correct Elven words to say for what he was thinking, uncertain of how to phrase it correctly, '-do you and your Kin not stay in one place all year?'

Lasgalen stiffened slightly, closing his eyes again. His thick eyelashes grew moist with a few tears, as he thought of the home he had once known, only to have it overrun with Uruk-Hai, Orcs, and strange Black Riders called Nazgul. What had taken the Elves over a Man's lifetime to build and grow had been destroyed in the blink of an eye, leaving them homeless, and many had died.

If riders from Imladris had not arrived in time, all of the Elves would have died, including Lasgalen himself. The memories were unwanted and caused him nothing but pain. The screams… the cruel tortures being given to his Kin, while he himself wandered around, dazed and confused, too young to understand what was truly happening.

Elessar slowly stood as well and went over to the silent Elf, who did not look up at him, in the images running through his mind. The King of Gondor saw a single tear escape from the mask of neutrality, and he knelt beside Lasgalen, before placing a hand tentatively on the small shoulder. 'I… I did not mean… to make you sad,' he carefully said, feeling guilty.

'Tis all right; you could not have known, be at peace about it,' came the answer, as Lasgalen looked up at the Man, slipping his tongue out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. He felt lost in the brown depths that looked at him compassionately.

A beautiful, large hand gently wiped away the single tear, before it caressed the soft, smooth texture of Lasgalen's face, holding a cheek in it, feeling a jolt of desire, need, longing, and sadness at the physical contact.

Lasgalen started at first at the hand, before he relaxed, enjoying the gentle pressure on his face. What he couldn't understand was why Elessar looked at him as if he were a treasure to behold, which the young Elf knew he was not. Not compared to the rugged, handsome Man, who had a genuinely good heart, Lasgalen admitted. Elves were always beautiful, after all; that was one of the benefits in being an Elf. However, it also made it hard for Lasgalen to accept compliments on his beauty, because he did not see that it made him any different from another Elf.

How could he have known that when he smiled, it lit up his whole face, giving him an inner radiance that astonished others, once he allowed them to see his happiness? True, he was considered one of the most beautiful of the younger Elves, though the words were never spoken to his face, for the Elders did not want Lasgalen to become proud and boastful, as some of the younger ones had. Possessing wit and a natural curiosity, which sometimes made him seem much younger than he truly was, kept him from becoming arrogant, though some Elves were put off by his curious nature.

Elessar drank in the sight of the splendid Elf that gazed at him silently, a confused expression in his blue eyes. Only years of self-discipline kept the King from kissing the tempting lips that were slightly parted, awaiting a sweet kiss, or so it seemed to Elessar.

'Why do you look at me so?' Lasgalen questioned, trying to ignore the desire to explore the rippling muscles of the bare chest next to his. 'I am nothing special to behold. Many of my Kin are far fairer to look upon.'

'Look at you so?' Elessar muttered, not really listening. He then figured that Lasgalen had noticed him staring a few times, before he concentrated on the words that he had spoken. 'You are lovely to look on, Lasgalen,' he protested. 'I had not met an Elf before, but you are all that the rumors say.'

Lasgalen shook his head. 'All Elves are beautiful; it is the nature of what makes an Elf truly an Elf, for our ties to nature and-' He was silenced by a single finger on his lips.

Elessar stated firmly, '**_You_** are beautiful. Yes, your physical beauty **_is_** great, but it is what is **_inside_** of you that **_makes_** you so beautiful.' His hand drifted from touching those soft lips to the Elf's chest, where his heart beat inside of him, to explain what he meant.

'I…' A pretty flush crept onto the pale face, and it was one of the rare times in his life that Lasgalen had ever been so pleased… and surprised. He could read the Man's sincerity and knew that Elessar meant every word of it. And somehow, that compliment from a human he had barely met meant more to Lasgalen than any admiring comments he had received before from other Elves. 'Thank you,' he said, his blush staining his cheeks red.

'You're welcome,' Elessar replied, before he stood and offered a hand to Lasgalen, who took it. The light Elf was pulled to his feet easily, and he offered a smile to Elessar.

'Your tunic and shirt lay over there, if you care to put them on again,' Lasgalen told Elessar, gesturing to a nearby chair, and the blush faded from his face, his natural good humor finally restored to him.

Elessar removed his hand and nodded, walking over to the chair. He lifted his shirt carefully and began trying to put it on, ignoring the throb in his injured side. Lasgalen caught the wince anyway and followed him. He silently took the shirt from Elessar and used his nimble fingers to put it over the Man's head, carefully threading the arms through the sleeves, before he smoothed the shirt flat over the solid chest with his hands. His fingers easily put the tunic over the shirt, flying up the tiny buttons quickly. Finished, Lasgalen smiled at Elessar, then returned to the carved hollows to get some lembas and dried meat for breakfast.

Handing the Elvish bread and meat to the Man who had crossed over to him, Lasgalen began eating as well, feigning indifference to the attractive human standing next to him. Elessar ate as well, wanting to do anything besides focusing on the desire that was beginning to grow inside of him as he watched the ethereal Elf eating daintily, nibbling at the lemba he held in his curved fingers. Such lust was not common in him, the King knew, and never so instantaneously. But his genuine respect and growing admiration for Lasgalen forbid him from revealing such a weakness, no matter that he had grown very fond of the inquisitive Elf rather suddenly. Elessar knew that he was a good judge of character, and he believed that Lasgalen was worthy of admiration and respect.

After they had finished the meal, the Man and Elf gazed at each other again for a few moments, as Lasgalen retrieved his discarded weapons and belongings, licking the remaining crumbs from his face.

'Perhaps we'll meet again,' Lasgalen murmured, hoping it was true. He could not deny his growing attraction to the gorgeous Man, but did not want to sully their seeming friendship by revealing his desire to Elessar. It was strange, but the blond Elf felt like he had known Elessar for a very long time, indeed.

Elessar nodded. 'If you're ever in Gondor, perhaps you could stop by the castle for a visit,' he suggested, not wanting to appear too interested, but trying to also not seem uninterested in seeing Lasgalen again. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

'I'd like that,' Lasgalen admitted softly. 'Or if you're ever in this area again… I may find you once more.' He laughed at his boldness, before clasping a hold of Elessar's arm. 'You are a good Man,' he said seriously. 'I hope you never change, Elessar of Gondor, for Middle Earth needs more noble and valiant Men like you.'

It was Elessar's turn to blush at the sincere words. 'Thank you, Lasgalen. I hope the same for you, because curious Elves are intriguing, indeed.'

The two shared a smile as they slowly made their way out of the Elven haven together, with Lasgalen leading the way through the dim light. Elessar trailed after him, and both did not want to have to leave, but their vastly different duties and obligations forced them to do so, against their wills.

Outside of the haven, they looked at each other again, each hiding their inner pain at being separated.

'Namarie, Elessar,' Lasgalen said quietly. 'May the Valar keep you safe until such a time as we might meet again.'

'Farewell, Lasgalen,' Elessar murmured. 'I wish the same for you.'

The two then slowly parted, Elessar heading southwest towards where Gondor lay, beyond the White Mountains. His journey would be delayed, for he either had to cross over the mountains themselves or travel around them, alone and without a steed to ride. The trip would take quite a few days, whichever he decided to do.

Lasgalen headed northeast, towards Fangorn, where his garden was planted and awaiting him. He was not certain if he would see Elessar again, as he placed his cloak around his shoulders and fastened it, maneuvering the hood to cover his pointed ears, for Rohan was, after all, governed by Men. Not all of them were inclined to be as noble as Elessar had been, or even to treat him with dignity and respect.

But Lasgalen had learned something very important from the chance meeting, which he carried inside of his heart. The next time his Elders told him of how Men only sought to carry out their desires and how arrogant they were, he, Lasgalen, would know that it was not true. There was at least one exception to that belief, and, quite possibly, there were more Men who were just as trustworthy as Elessar.

As they went on their ways, Lasgalen and Elessar fleetingly thought of each other, uncertain if they truly would ever meet once more. They could not know that the Valar already had a plan to bring them together again, one month later, in less fortunate circumstances than their first meeting…

To be continued


	5. Chapter 3. Familiar Stranger

Other: ahllw, Yahoo won't let me email you anymore. I tried to answer the three emails you sent to me, but I kept getting a 'failed delivery' notice each time. ^^; Do you have another email address?

Disclaimer: See the Author Notes! Takes place one month after Elessar and Lasgalen separated, in a city in Gondor… Kiirar is my character, and the bad guys! * marks what Kiirar signs, because he doesn't speak.

Love Beyond Time

Chapter 3. Familiar Stranger

A figure wearing dark clothing and a black cloak knocked twice on a wooden door, careful to keep the hood low, covering his face. His brown hair was mussed up, with the driving wind and rain, and a fierce look was in the rich, brown eyes, telling all that this Man was not someone to be reckoned with.

A slot in the door opened, and a suspicious, whiny voice demanded, "Name **_and_** password?"

"Strider is my name," a deep, baritone voice stated, drawling the words out slowly. "'The Road goes ever on and on…'"

The slot slammed closed and the door opened, letting Strider step inside the gate of the town. "What business have you here, Strider?"

Strider narrowed his eyes and coldly replied, "My business is my own… I have work to do in this town." The sharp look in his eyes silently flashed a warning at the one who was questioning him.

The gatekeeper grumbled a bit, but waved the taller Man on, not wanting to pick a fight with one who was rumored to be as deadly as Elves and twice as quick to jump to anger.

So the lone Man called Strider stepped through the mud and puddles, ignoring the rain that drenched him thoroughly, as he headed towards a small, black building, where he was expected. The pathways were muddy and rain splattered across the Man, whose dark cloak covered his hair and face, keeping the rain off. Underneath of the cloak, a black, faded shirt covered by a midnight blue tunic were hidden, along with the black leggings and the gleaming sword at his side. When he arrived at the building, Strider merely opened the door and entered, cleaning his boots off on the mat just inside of the door.

"There you are, Strider… We have some new pretties for you to see to," a calculatingly smooth voice declared, as a heavy-set Man stepped forward, beckoning to the taller Man. His clothes were made of the finest silk available, and the orange, red, and white colors clashed so horribly that Strider had to look away, as his head throbbed slightly.

Strider inclined his head and followed the Man, his sharp eyes taking in everything, as he was led upstairs and towards a room. Not for work was this one here, he had plans of his own, and they were known only to him. Wordlessly, he listened to what was being said, though he was not truly listening. Strider was busy memorizing the different rooms they passed, and barely noticed when he stopped in front of the door to a room, next to where the other Man had stopped.   

Strider's employer was taken by surprise when a lone figure stumbled out of the room he was passing by, and the thin figure tripped over his own feet but managed to keep his balance. In vain, he tried to find his friend, so that they could escape, but disorientation overtook him and he tripped again, this time falling directly into Strider, who instinctively caught and supported the slight person against his firm body.

Glazed, disoriented blue eyes met brown ones, and Strider peered down at the seeming youth who lay against him. His eyes flashed with a strange emotion when he took in the outfit that the person was wearing.

Golden hair, styled loose and flowing about a young face, which had a glittering, silvery material covering the lower half of it, hiding the full lips. Strands of gold covered the figure's ears and trailed down the smooth, ivory skin of his back. A sea-green, loose-fitting vest was all that the beautiful person wore over his upper body, which hung open and showed off the slender, well-muscled chest and small waist.

But that did not keep Strider's attention; no, he was focused on the lower half of the young one's body. Held in place by two small, delicate silver chains, one on each side, a light blue cloth barely covered anything decently, hanging low on the curved hips. The loincloth reached to just above the floor, in front and back and little bracelets were around the small ankles. The willowy musculature made the extraordinary prisoner much more than simply breathtaking…

Strider narrowed his eyes again, this time looking at the _mithril_-wrought chains binding the small wrists together. A weak, trembling voice then caught his attention.

'Kiirar…' Lasgalen moaned, trying to find the strength to continue his search for his friend. But it was not to be; he was too drugged to stand, let alone go anywhere. The golden-haired Elf attempted to step away from the one holding him, keeping him from falling, but the hands simply gripped him harder.

Brown eyes looked closer at the weak figure who was speaking so softly it was hard to understand. It was obvious that a drug had been given to him, but that voice, though indistinct, was very familiar to Strider. He appraised the slender body a second time, to see if he did know this one, before he brought one of his hands up to remove the mask covering the beautiful face.

"I wouldn't," Eldon warned, a deep chuckle coming from his gut.. "He's got a bit of a temper, even with the combination of Lavender, Rosemary, and Thyme working on him."

Strider was horrified to hear that all three sleeping herbs were being used on this one prisoner, for he knew that it was dangerous to combine sleeping herbs like that, deadly even. He gritted his teeth, but released the cloth he held in his left hand, but only because he could not risk showing his true identity yet, not until he found the proof that he was searching for, to close this place down.

Lasgalen feebly tried again to break free, but his efforts only used up the rest of his strength. A sigh forced its way out of his throat weakly, followed by a whimper of protest when Eldon grabbed one of his chained wrists with one hand, while the other yanked his hair hard, pulling him back into the room he had escaped from.

Other Men appeared at the doorway of the room, eager to take the unwilling beauty back into their care. Strider was ready to forget the plan when he saw the crude way the patrons were trying to grope the listless, drugged prisoner, and his anger grew when the golden-haired epiphany was pulled into the lap of a Man and forced to stay there, though it was only too obvious he wanted to leave, as a hand trailed down his bare leg. The plaintive whimper of denial that followed was agonizing, tearing at Strider's morals severely. But he got the shock of his life when the  blond locks were dislodged as the prisoner shifted, whimpering for a third time, not liking his position.

Pointed ears…

Strider opened and closed his mouth in shock, remembering what the beautiful Elf- Lasgalen, whom he'd met a month ago- had told him, in the exotic, accented voice that had haunted his dreams since they'd parted…

'Many Men- not all, but many- desire Elves, male or female, willing or not. My kind die from such violations, though derived pleasure can keep us alive… sometimes.'

He had known that the Elf was serious, but hearing it was one thing. Seeing it was another, and it was horrifying, spurring the rage inside of him when things got even worse inside of the room.

Lasgalen shook his head and struggled against the Man who held him impossibly hard, forcing him to remain in his lap, as the Man slid his hand under the blue cloth that the Elf was forced to wear. A groan left him, and he repeatedly shook his head, saying with words that he did not desire this, but the Man ignored him, tightening his grip.

'No… Please…' came the plea from the Elf, tears gathering in his eyes against his will. One splashed down his face, before he blearily looked at the Man in the doorframe, who had caught him. For some reason, Lasgalen felt that this one was different from the others, so he sent him a pleading look for help with his hazy cobalt eyes. The silvery tear that ran down his cheek splashed onto the floor.

Strider had had enough, when he saw the tear trickling down the Elven prisoner's face, and the desperate, beseeching look in his eyes, which begged for help. It was said that Elves instinctively knew who they could trust, and it was apparently true, Strider decided, for the azure eyes, though clouded with the effects of the drugs, locked onto his.

"He's an Elf," he said, in a deceptively calm voice, looking at Eldon. "The King has forbidden things such as this to be done to any, especially Elves, because it kills their kind."

Eldon snickered, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, and it's not like Elves are human."

No, Strider grimly thought. They're not human; they're beyond human, wise and beautiful, deserving only respect and admiration. The ethereal creatures did not deserve what was being done to one of their own, this young, drugged Elf that pleaded for his help with his eyes.

The Man next to the one holding Lasgalen moved the Elf onto **_his_** lap, to fuel his own arousal. None of the patrons were allowed to violate him; only the Master had the right to do so to this rare beauty, when he finally arrived, but passing him around on their laps was permitted. It gave them some pleasure to feel the squirming Elf trying to free himself, though he could not do so with the drugs that were used to keep him under control.

Casually, Strider slipped his left hand to the hilt of his sword, which was still hidden under his long cloak, and the dark fabric hid his actions. "Working for you is one thing; defying the King is another. I am no traitor."

"Neither am I," Eldon protested, looking upset. "I'm merely a Man, same as him, only trying to earn my living the same as anyone else."

Strider's heart grew hard at those words. "You claim that you are trying to earn your living the same as anyone else? How many other people do you know of that sell Elves into sexual slavery, allowing them to be ravished and die?" A cold, flat note was in his voice, a hint of underlying malice and danger.

Eldon shrugged helplessly, not realizing the danger he was in. "Hey, they trespassed into our city, inhuman creatures that they are, and speaking naught but that dratted Elvish. Serves them right, and that one there," he gestured to Lasgalen, "killed most of my Men before he was finally caught. He's a treat for my boss, who is **_real_** anxious to get acquainted with him, if you know what I mean." A snigger left him, and he shook with the laugh. 

"You have more than one Elf here?" Strider asked, incredulous. That certainly complicated things, but the Man would not leave any Elf behind here. Either they all escaped, or he would die trying." He slowly, silently drew his sword from its sheath, hiding it beneath his cloak.

"Yeah, caught two of 'em. The other one's been handed out, but he isn't half as pretty as him," Eldon answered, guffawing again.

In one deadly, swift movement, Strider brought his sword up, before Eldon could react, and slid it directly through the Man's heart. Shock and betrayal flashed in the wide eyes, before Eldon fell to the ground, dead. Strider didn't bother looking down at him, as he headed into the room where the first Elven prisoner was, after kicking Eldon's body out of sight and sheathing his sword.

The Men in there glanced up, and one was trying to kiss Lasgalen through his mask. The Elf's senses were so weak and disoriented that he thought it was a result of the drugs, for he felt that the Man looking directly at him was familiar, that he knew him. But he didn't know why…

Strider kept his hand on the cold, metal hilt as he easily lied, "Hand him over- boss wants him to go back to the room now, to rest before the Master arrives."

"Aw, man…" most of the Men grumbled, scowling. They'd wanted to have more fun with the pretty Elf, and though a few eyed him suspiciously, they released Lasgalen into the stranger's care, but only because they'd seen him speaking with the temporary boss, Eldon.

Lasgalen painstakingly stumbled over to the Man, struggling to keep from falling asleep. He was surprised when a hand was placed on his lower back, against his bare skin, pushing him forward, until they were ought of sight. Then Lasgalen received a shock, as the Man lifted him suddenly into his firm arms.

'Hold on, Master Elf- as soon as I find your friend and release him or her, I'll get you out of here,' Strider said, using Elvish, in his husky, low voice. 'My name is Strider; I am here to help you.'

Lasgalen breathed a sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax into the strong arms that held him against a firm chest. A flush crept onto the drugged Elf's face when his head fell against it, resting there while he was carried through the hallways, as his rescuer searched for Kiirar.

The two Elves, each with pale hair, though Kiirar's was more of a silvery-blond color, had been trapped in this place for three days, and it had been the worst three days of their lives. Having been ambushed along the way to Lórien, the two Elves had fought valiantly against their attackers, managing to kill the majority of them until fine, white crushed herbs had been flung into their faces, rendering them unconscious almost immediately. Lasgalen still did not know what had been used against them, but it had been very effective in diluting their keen senses and Elven abilities, weakening their strength and agility.

After waking up in this nightmarish place, Kiirar and Lasgalen had been separated, and both were drugged again, though they continued trying to resist, but they could not win against the effects of the drugs that kept them forcibly docile. Lasgalen's beauty had spared him from being ravaged, to keep him pure for the Master, though he did not know how Kiirar was faring, and his best friend had already suffered through an experience similar to this. To relive it a second time was cruelty, Lasgalen believed, as he wordlessly gazed up at his rescuer. 

Strider smiled at the weak, limp Elf that he cradled, a tender, reassuring smile that made Lasgalen smile back, but the mask over his face hid it. He managed to feebly move one of his hands to the mask and tried to remove it, sighing in relief when it slid to the floor, dropping from his hand. Once again, he peered at the Man who was holding him, wondering why in the name of Elbereth he was so familiar. The low-hanging hood covered his facial features, except for the russet eyes that met his blue ones occasionally.

Both stiffened when they heard the sounds of a fight in the room directly ahead, and Lasgalen was certain that it was Kiirar. Strider purposefully headed towards the room, drawing no attention to either himself or the Elf. The hallway had grown darker now, so he could not look upon the face of the one he had saved clearly, but he vowed to once he got the Elves out of this place.

The soft fabric of the skimpy loincloth brushed against Strider's legs as he walked, careful to keep his hands from slipping on the slightly shivering body. It was cold, indeed, though not cold enough for the rain to turn to snow. There had been snowstorms earlier, but the strangely warm weather had melted them, and turned the snow into rain for a while. If it had been colder, Strider would have been severely worried that the skimpy outfit the Elf wore would not be adequate protection, and then there was the matter of what the other Elf was wearing.

Peeking his head unobtrusively into the room, Strider saw a male Elf with hair almost the color of silver struggling hard against chains that held him trapped, for they were looped around the long bed with strewn sheets. A man was straddling the Elf, fussing with the emerald green loincloth that he wore, and a sky blue vest lay on the floor.

This Elf was Kiirar,  a nephew of distant blood to Lord Celeborn of Lórien, and it showed in his refined features, the pale skin, and the way that he refused to show any fear or emotion to those who hurt him, attempting to assault him. His wise, green eyes swirled, for he, too, was drugged and fighting against it, though he was more coherent than Lasgalen. But his strength was not enough to free him from the confining chains, nor his agility able to bring the ring of keys that hung on an iron post next to the open door to him.

Strider set Lasgalen on his feet, out of sight from the door, and told him to stay there, as he drew his sword and charged into the room. The Men inside had only moments to look up, before Strider stabbed one through the heart, then twisted and slit the throat of a second. His sword gutted the third, and finally, he faced the fourth Man. In the blink of an eye, Strider's gleaming, blood-stained sword pierced his opponent's flesh, in his lungs. All four were dead before the hit the ground.

Kiirar warily looked at the Man who stood over him, saying nothing. He wondered if he would die now, but he was not afraid to. Strider began searching for a key, and he finally spotted the key-ring across the room. After wiping his sword clean on the leg of his black pants, he sheathed it and crossed the room in three strides. Grabbing it in his hand, he strode back over to the bed and looked down at the Elf who was suspiciously eyeing him, but Strider did not blame the Elf for his actions, considering what he had been going through.

Dropping the keys within reach of the chained Elf, Strider backed away slowly, not wanting to intimidate the already wary Elf. Kiirar quickly unchained himself and stood slowly, before he began to edge his way towards the door, keeping an eye on the Man who had freed him. His movements were unstable, like Lasgalen's, but he did not fall over.

Lasgalen finally managed to enter the room, though he was now trembling with exhaustion, and he whispered, 'Kiirar… This Man, Strider, is here to help us. He killed the one who did this to us…' Wearily, the blond Elf tried to reassure his distrustful friend, who began signing back at him rapidly, gesturing gracefully with his hands.

*Are you certain he will not lead us into a trap, Lasgalen?*

'Yes, my friend…' Lasgalen yawned deeply, drawing Strider's attention. The Man walked over to him and froze, when he saw the profile in the flickering light of the candles in the room.

'Lasgalen?' Strider questioned, unable to believe it. How had he wound up here?

The Elf looked at him, confusion spinning in his eyes, along with haziness. 'You… know me, Strider?' 

Strider nodded, and pulled his hood back, revealing his own facial features. 'Tis I, Elessar, Lasgalen. We are met once more, it seems, just in time for me to save you, as you saved me from the bandits a month ago.'

'Elessar…' Lasgalen breathed, joy intermingling with his weariness from fighting the sleeping drugs. 'I told you that Gondor needed more Men like you, my friend,' he weakly jested, not knowing what else to say. 'This is Kiirar, my best friend.' Lasgalen gestured to Kiirar, before turning his attention to what his best friend was signing.

Kiirar signed, ***_He_** knows **_you_**, and **_you_** know **_him_**, Lasgalen? You know it's forbidden for Elves and Men to **_speak_** to each other, let alone be **_friends_**!* Shock was on his face, for while he had known that Lasgalen had made a new friend when he had gone to his small garden, Kiirar had not realized that it was a Man.

To be continued


End file.
